A World Known
by DeadlyBacon50
Summary: -SCRAPPED-
1. Prologue

_Author's Note: Hello readers! Throughout my time reading through stories on FanFiction, I came across a lot of these kinds of stories that interested me. Ones where a completely original character was suddenly and mysteriously transported from our world (the real one) into the world of Mass Effect. I am not going to lie and say I didn't get a lot of inspiration from other stories, such as_ Mass Effect: Raven _by_ R3dRaven. _But, as always, and call me an arrogant jackass if you want, I feel I can do a better job at making an unrealistic scenario_ more _realisic. Muhahahaha xD_

 _But I digress a bit. In this story, I am, essentially, throwing myself into the ME universe. The MC has the exact same personality as me and the exact same hobbies and interests. However, he isn't exactly me._ _So now, with that in mind, understand that this story is supposed to be a much brighter, more adventurous/funny one compared to my other story,_ The Hunt _. That doesn't mean, however, the story cannot get dark and gritty at times. Again, I aim for realism and this story will be rated M. But, at the end of the day, this story is also supposed to be about having some fun. So, without further ado, enjoy!_

 _Author's Note #2: For all who may be a current follower of_ The Hunt _, now you know why the release of chapter 4 has been delayed. I was also trying to make a longer chapter to make up for the shorter than average CH3. Don't worry; I will be putting it up within the next day._ The Hunt _is still my primary story and the center of my focus. I won't let you fellas down!_

* * *

 **A World Known**

 **Prologue**

It was as if I was suffering from the worst hangover of my entire life. A fairly short adult one at that, but that was besides the point. My head felt as if it was about to explode and my stomach was turning inside out. My vision was blurred; the crust in my eyes most definitely not helping. I felt groggy and cranky as my legs and arms fought against my commands. _What the hell happened last night_ , I asked myself with an agitated groan. Scattered, unorganized flashes of the previous night began flowing through my head, but then stopped when the memory of a certain individual coercing me to do vodka shots popped up. _Michael_. My guttural noises became louder and angrier as I continued to think of my best friend's actions from the night before. _I'm going to kill him for_... the thought was cut off when I suddenly realized where I had been laying. A very hard and very cold floor. In a very dark and very smelly alley.

"Wha-... what the _shit_?" I rubbed away the crust from my eyes with the only hand willing to partially listen to me and attempted to focus my vision; however little I could in the apparent darkness I found myself in. "Mike," I asked out loud, still a bit slow and half asleep. "Bro, the fuck?" I became louder as I looked around at my surroundings to find no one other than myself. "Seriously, man. This isn't funny!" My voice eerily echoed through the long, seemingly endless alleyway for several moments. I continued to quietly listen in hope of a response, but found it to be a futile effort. At this point, it didn't take long for panic to begin setting in. My eyes were now wide open in an inherent fear of having being left behind ‒ in an unknown place and time, and with no recollection of prior events ‒ as they scanned the area around me with a newfound desperation. Not long after, I noticed a small ray of light out in the distance behind me. From what my hungover self could tell, the alley seemed to continue on for about a hundred yards in that direction. With the only hope of finding out where I was being that far reaching source of illumination, I raised myself up to my feet ‒ or at least tried to after failing several uncounted times ‒ and slowly began heading towards the light. I was practically limping at first, barely able to not trip over myself. However, after a short time of stretching my legs and getting my body back into practice, my pace turned into a slightly uneasy, but normal walk.

 _Okay..._ _think hard and remember_. As I got ever closer and closer to the end of the alleyway, with the originally small light gradually becoming a blinding glare, I attempted to focus as much of my attention on memory gathering as possible. _You and the squad drove to Manhattan. Went to a night club. Ate at Planet Hollywood. Then you went to a bar and you were celebrating..._ I squinted my eyes and tried to put more brain power into the thoughts. _You were celebrating... oh shit, that's right!_ A toothy grin spread across my face. _I'm freakin' twenty-one! Those assholes got me wasted on my birthday,_ I thought in regards to my friends, now shaking my head and chuckling to myself. _I love those guys, but I'm going to_ kill _them!_ I was definitely angry at how they left me in such a sorry state in the middle of goddamn _Manhattan_ , but at the end of they day I knew they were my best friends. To be honest, it was not as if this was the worst of our close-knit group's misadventures. With that in mind, it was pretty hard to stay angry when you'd done deeds that were just as messed up ‒ but nonetheless hilarious ‒ to the same people responsible for the current situation.

By the time I was within a few dozen yards of the end of the alley, the beaming light had virtually rendered me blind. However, the familiar sounds of a major city were as loud in my ears as ever. Dozens if not hundreds of people walking and crowding together, going on with their daily lives. The aromas of foods from various different cultures mixing together to form a unique scent. But... something wasn't right. A lot of the voices I was beginning to hear were not in English. And the smell in the air was... different. Having been born and lived in New York City for my entire life, the distinct smells of Manhattan, and all of its sub communities such as China Town and Little Italy, had become ingrained in my memory and senses. These foreign languages sounding off before me were none I had ever heard before. I may not have been able to speak anything other than English and some Spanish, but I knew what the other popular languages of Manhattan ‒ Mandarin Chinese and Italian for example ‒ sounded like. Everything now going through my ear was completely alien. _I'm still in Manhattan... right? Because I swear, if I somehow find myself in Newark or Jersey City..._

Then I once again realized something I had not noticed before. As the floor below me was the only thing I could have a clear view of without burning my pupils, it became impossible to not see that I was standing on metal. Nowhere in sight was there concrete or asphalt. As far as I had remembered, there were no streets or sidewalks in any North American city I had ever visited that were crafted from metal. _Where... where the hell am I?!_ After a little more time of allowing my eyes to adjust to the light, I finally looked forward with confidence in my ability to see properly. And what I saw absolutely blew my damn mind. Standing a few yards in front of me, with a face displaying an obvious expression of utter shock, confusion, and suspicion, was a young-looking woman staring at me. Only she had dark blue skin, these... _tentacle_ things sticking out of the back of her head, and there were these symmetrical tattoos on both sides of her face.

Yeah, I knew what she was supposed to be. I've definitely played the games a decent amount of times to know. I just didn't want to say it. I thought it must have been some kind of cosplay or something. Maybe there was a video game convention in the city I didn't know about. That train of thought ended, however, when I saw all of the other people passing by the alleyway entrance. There were _dozens_ more blue woman standing in the street ahead, some even stopping to peer at me with the same expression as the first. And when I looked up to the skyline for the first time, I saw the countless aircars speedily soaring overhead. Once I finished staring for a number of moments in awe and disbelief, I then looked back down and, after focusing even more on the slowly growing crowd in front of me, noticed other strange figures scattered throughout. Some had green skin with ridiculously wide foreheads and large, amphibian-like eyes. Others were almost... bird-like, with tough looking skin, no lips, and 'spikes' sticking out of the back of their heads. To say I instantly sobered up was far from a lie.

 _Asari... Salarians... Turians..._ I thought I was dreaming. I must have been. What else could have explained it all? Believing this to be the case, I slapped myself across the face. Hard. But instead of waking in my bed, back at my home in Staten Island, I returned to the faces of aliens ‒ who's various species should not have even _existed_ ‒ staring at me as if I was a looney. That was when it kicked in. That was when reality hit me in the face with the fist of Mike Tyson himself and I _knew_ where I was. I was in the world of Mass Effect. And it was scaring the crap out of me.


	2. C1) Means of Survival

_Author's Note: I would like to once again thank other fanfic authors like_ R3dRaven _for inspiration with the story. His fanfic,_ Mass Effect: Raven _, showed me the potential this genre of fanfic had. When done correctly and realistically, a truly amazing story can be created!_

 _I would also like to get this out of the way: **I do not own Mass Effect or any of it's characters and settings. The source material is strictly owned and developed by BIOWARE and Electronic Arts.**_

 _Author's Note #2: For all you readers, I hope you like what I am writing here. I won't try to take too long with the chapters, either. I will be skipping over any events that do not necessarily need to be gone over and, if important enough, they will instead be merely mentioned at the beginning or end of a chapter. I plan on going through all ME games with this story, same as_ The Hunt _, so I don't have time to waste._

 _Now with that being said, enjoy!_

* * *

 **Chapter One**

Means of Survival

 _Shit. Shit. Shit! SHIT!_ I had been running, eyes wide and mind clear, for the past half an hour. I had absolutely _no clue_ where the hell I was going. The only thing I _did_ know was that I needed to get as far away as possible from the two Turian C-Sec agents chasing after me. It wasn't really surprising that at least one of those Asari that saw me rise out from the dark alley ended up calling the cops. But dammit, I had just gotten here! What made it even worse, at least in my perspective, was that I used to be a near perfect example of a model law abiding citizen my entire life back in the real world. Back in New York City. Not once had I ever gotten in trouble with law enforcement, pranks and childish behavior with friends aside. But this? I sure as hell was not about to get detained by alien police officers who I was still trying to accept were real. I was still trying to accept _any_ of this was real. Like seriously, this was something straight out of a crappy B-movie. Or ripped straight from Tron. Yeah, Tron was a decent comparison.

" _You're only making this worse for yourself_ ," one of the Turians yelled over the crowds, pushing aside anyone who got in the way without remorse. I didn't have a single idea what he ‒ or she ‒ was saying in the alien language, but it was not like I had never seen cop shows and movies before. I had a decent idea what they were _probably_ saying. " _Just give up,_ Human," demanded the other officer. That time I caught the word 'Human' and had a pretty good understanding of what he wanted from me. And that he sounded really damn pissed.

Being in the middle of a heavily crowded area, which I could only guess was _somewhere_ on the Citadel, ended up being a life saver. The games never showed or talked about it, but those Turians were able to run _fast_. Like, a Human Olympic runner fast. I might have even given it some serious thought and connected it with the fact they were a predatory species on their home planet ‒ had I not been too busy fleeing to give a rat's ass. If it had not been for all of the humanoid obstacles they had to pass through, they surely would have caught me long before I got this far. In fact, they almost did when they first found me earlier. The chase continued on like this for another ten minutes before my stamina began to seriously take its toll. Adrenaline pumping or not, going at full sprint for such a fairly long time would drain the energy out of any normal _Human_ person. By then I had turned too many corners to count and must have traveled four or five floors lower. _Running out of options here,_ I mentally yelled at myself. _C'mon... there!_

Coming up thirty yards on my right was what looked like another dark, narrow back alley between two mediocre-looking store fronts. Ducking down to take advantage of the still fairly thick crowd and hinder the line-of-sight the C-Sec officers had on me, I pushed through my gradually growing fatigue and sharply turned the corner into the alleyway. Now I wasn't stupid ‒ I knew that, even if they hadn't seen me make the turn, they would realize I had stopped running in the same direction. I doubted they would fail to notice something as simple as that, and so, through panting and pouring sweat, my gaze wandered around my new surroundings. After a short moment that felt more like an eternity, my eyes rested on something that could only be assumed to be a sort of large, industrial garbage bin. Something you would see in the back of restaurants and grocery stores. _The world is so cruel_ , I thought to myself as I stared at my only form of possible salvation. The voices of the two Turians getting closer snapped me out of my thoughts and, after only one more brief hesitation, I opened the bin's top lid and climbed inside.

The horrid smell and physical sensation of rotting food and other undesirables instantly overcame my senses. It was so foul, I almost vomited on the spot. To say this was one of the most awful and, frankly, humiliating experiences in my life so far was an understatement. _Push through it_ , I mentally yelled at myself some more. _Garbage is better than a jail cell!_ I closed the lid above me and once again was encompassed by darkness. After a few more long moments of covering myself in substances I did not even want to describe, the sounds of rapidly approaching footsteps stopped close by. " _Where do you think the Human went_ ," asked one of the officer's voices.

There was a short pause before the second answered, likely for some time to think about his or her response. " _Split up. He could have gone either way._ " Immediately afterwards, I heard the two sets of running feet drift apart from each other. One sounded like it continued onward through the busy streets. The other, however, was slowly coming closer into the alleyway. _I'm screwed_ , I thought to myself after hearing the Turian stop in front of the garbage bin. _There's no way he's not going to look in here_. With no other option left, I closed my eyes, put my clean(er) hand over my nose and mouth, and sunk down beneath the waist-high layer of garbage. Not a second later did I hear the bin's lid open and instinctively reach for my hip. _Don't do it. Doing some stupid shit like that is only going to make things worse._ I pulled my hand away just as the sound of the lid closing echoed into my ear. I waited for the officer's footsteps to drift further away and eventually disappear before jumping up out of the muck with a deep breath. A nauseatingly putrid breath that I instantly regretted, but one I nonetheless needed to take.

Though I most certainly did not want to, I waited for another five unbearable minutes of swimming through the garbage. I needed be sure the coast was clear. Once I was, I carefully pushed open the lid and crawled back out into the alley. A long awaited sigh of happy relief, albeit a weak one, escaped my lips when I collapsed to the ground. I was absolutely exhausted and, at the moment, barely cared about wearing a new coat of garbage from the stomach down. For everything that was happening, I just needed some time to _think_.

—

I stared at the items now laying on the ground directly in front of me in a deep, calculating mindset. My face stiff and momentarily empty of all emotion. _My wallet... an analog wristwatch... my smartphone... sixty-four United States Dollars..._ which was more than I expected to have after last night... _thirty cents in change... my house keys..._ my hands subconsciously rised to my neck... _my golden cross necklace... and finally..._ I reached for my hip, unbuttoned the sidearm holster strapped to my waist, and pulled out the pistol inside _... my Model 1911 Colt .45._

I was never once in my life a truly stupid person. I may have done stupid things with my friends, but that was just living a young life in a perfectly normal way. At the end of every day, I was very much the opposite of ignorant. New York City, no matter how much I loved it as my home, was a place I considered an American Liberal fuck-land. Now I was a very open-minded person; neither completely Liberal or Conservative and somewhat holding an animosity for both. But I thought the Far Left was the worst of the two sides. At least self-defense and the US Constitution's 2nd Amendment wasn't threatened by the Rightists. The left's arguments against guns were, more often than not, comparable to a toddler's level of intelligence. Reality was not some peaceful paradise; it could be gritty and unforgiving. Bad things happened to good people all of the time and there was no better way to prevent the worst from happening then owning a firearm and learning how to properly use it. And that is why I owned a pistol. Because the safety of not just myself, but my family, friends, and even fellow countrymen were my _top_ priority. I did, of course, own it legally. And it was definitely not an easy task to achieve. Obtaining a CCW ‒ Carrying a Concealed Weapon ‒ permit was very nearly impossible for the average New Yorker. Fortunately, and in no small thanks to the influence of some certain relatives with connections, I was able to get one.

My gaze never left the aging pistol and its two spare 7-round magazines as I slowly and carefully examined it. The old weapon held deep, sentimental value to me and not just because it was the first gun I ever owned. It was, in fact, a true survivor of the Second World War. After my eighteenth birthday, when I applied for and was practically guaranteed the CCW permit by my lawyer of an uncle, my dad entrusted me with his old, but refurbished Colt. Its original owner was actually my great-grandfather, may he rest in peace, who served as a Marine fighting against the Japanese in the Pacific theater of World War 2. From him, it was passed down to my grandfather who served in Vietnam, then my father who served in Desert Storm, and then finally to me. This 1911 was essentially a symbol of my heritage and where I came from. And I had quite happily treated it as such since given the responsibility of taking care of it.

Which brought up an entirely new question that was _really_ nagging me. How the hell did I even have it on me? I had left it home, inside its protective case, when I went off to join my friends in Manhattan. Maybe I did get home last night and, for some drunken reason, decided to take it? It was hard to believe I could be _that_ stupid when wasted on alcohol, but then again... Needless to say, it would probably end up helping me in the long run, so there wasn't any real reason to complain. Also, if I was really going to be stuck in this world, I was happy to at the very least be able to hold onto something that made me feel close to my family.

I silently holstered the pistol and its magazines with a sigh before looking back over the other items that simply happened to be in my black jeans or hoodie when I was... transported to Mass Effect. No food. No Water. I certainly did not have any form of official identification or currency that was worth a damn thing in this time period. Things were looking awfully grim; I sure as hell did not want to go and resort to mugging random people with an incredibly outdated sidearm just to simply survive. But... I knew what kind of person I could become if it was needed. _Adapt and overcome_. The unofficial motto of the United States Marine Corps had continued to whisper in my head since the day my father and grandfather ingrained the core idea of it into me. _No_ , I told myself. _That doesn't mean they would have wanted you stealing from innocent people!_ But it did not change the fact I was a person who needed to eat and sleep every day in order to live.

I was solemnly returning my personal belongings back into my pockets when an idea suddenly hit me like a rock. And I swear, there could have been a glowing lightbulb over my head.

—

The balding man looked at me as if I was the craziest thing he'd seen all day. To be honest, I probably was. You don't tend to see a young man wearing clothes from the early 21st century and half covered in garbage walking into a late 22nd century store on a normal basis. "You okay, kid?" He was slowly scratching his partially graying beard as he asked me. One of his tired brown eyes was cocked in suspicion. "You look like shit."

"I feel like shit," I admitted with a lazy nod. "But how about we cut the pleasantries?" Without an ounce of hesitation, I plopped all of my things ‒ besides my wallet, watch, and M1911 ‒ onto the shop counter. "No names, no I-Ds, no questions asked, right? So how many credits can you give me?"

His eyes widened for a split second in brief surprise of what he saw placed down before looking at me with an amused smirk. "What is this crap?" He pointed at my cell phone and began laughing. "Is that one of those twenty-first century 'smart phones'? Where did you even get that?" He turned to look at my face, but when he saw the blank stare I was giving him he simply closed his eyes, shook his head, and shrugged. "Listen, kid. You look like you really need the money. Hell, you need some _clothes_. So I'll be honest with you. I can't give much. Not because some of this wouldn't be valuable, but because all I do is own a small pawn shop in the darker parts of the Wards. Not enough business comes my way to have the money for some of this stuff you have here." _Shit_. This was not going as planned and the fact I began groggily rubbing the bags beneath my eyes while bitterly frowning was proof of my frustration. The shop owner must have noticed, because he soon shrugged with a sigh. "Like I said, kid. I'm just being honest. If you didn't look like _that_ , then I would have happily stayed quiet and bought this stuff off you for no more than a few dozen credits."

The old man's honesty was appreciated, but it did not stop me from nearly erupting into a fit of hysterical laughter. I had just finished spending nearly _nine_ hours trying to get to this place. Five or six of those hours were me simply trying to travel to these parts of the Wards without being detected by C-Sec. The last three or four were then spent attempting to find a decent pawn shop owned by a Human who not only spoke English, but was also the more... shady type. A 21st century New York State ID was obviously only going to cause problems and it was not like I had an Omnitool to translate other languages, much less alien ones. Finally, after finding a lone Human who spoke English about a kilometer away from here, and telling the person a convenient lie that I got mugged by a group of Batarian thugs, I was pointed to this shop that was known to care less about who it did business with. If you were a paying customer, it was said the owner didn't even care if you were a Quarian. So there I was, believing I could fill my aching stomach, put some fresh clothes on my back, and maybe even spare enough money for a motel room to stay in. If they even had motels on the Citadel. "Can you..." I could barely talk through my chuckling. "Do you at least know where I _can_ get some money for this?"

The pawn shop owner opened his mouth, but did not say anything and closed it a few seconds later. After several moments of just quietly staring at me, as if he was internally debating an important decision inside his thoughts, he rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head with another shrug. "How old are you, kid?"

"Twenty-one," I replied after silently contemplating whether I should answer truthfully or not. "Yesterday was actually my birthday."

A smirk spread across his face as he nodded. "Must have been one hell of a night!"

I could easily tell from a mile away that he was trying to brighten up the conversation a little bit. And, believe it or not, it was working. "You have no idea," I declared with a brief, but genuine laugh.

Even he snorted in amusement. "You might be surprised, kid. I've seen some dumb shit in my time. Done even stupider."

I really started chuckling now with a warm smile on my face. _Yeah... but I still think I'd beat you by a long shot._ "You know what, old man? You're actually pretty cool."

That actually elicited a serious laugh from the shop owner. "I wouldn't speak so soon, kid. We still haven't negotiated prices." Now it was my turn to be taken aback and cock an eyebrow. He caught on to my confusion fairly quickly. "What? I didn't say there wasn't _something_ I'd buy from you." He hastily looked over the few items resting on his store counter before picking up the key chain and necklace. "I can give you a decent amount of credits for this crap here."

For a few seconds, I simply looked at the golden Christian cross hanging from the 14 karat all-gold necklace as it swung slightly from side to side. It really was a beautiful piece of men's jewelry, having been given to me as a gift by Michael and the crew on my eighteenth birthday. It apparently cost them a collective price of over five hundred dollars ‒ mostly due to the solid piece of polished gold that was the cross pendant ‒ and I hated the idea of pawning it. But... it had to be done. "How much can you give me?"

He put the keys back down and used a minute to examine the necklace. "I can give you one-fifty for the gold."

I had to hold in a raucous laugh. "That pendent right there alone is a solid piece of fourteen karat polished gold. Four hundred credits." Out of the few things I had ever searched the Mass Effect wiki for out of sheer curiosity, the comparison of the ME credits to real world currency was one of the articles I remembered relatively well. If all of the prices of weapons, items, mods, etc. were compared fairly to real world items and their prices, the Credit used in Mass Effect was roughly equal to a single USD. Which was surprising, considering Bioware was a Canadian company...

The shop owner shook his head and squinted his eyes. "You see what prices for Gold are in today's market? Two hundred."

"I haven't, but I'm pretty sure you're still trying to be cheap with me." I crossed my arms and shot him a deathly serious face. "Three-fifty."

Another smirk formed on the man's face. "I like your spunk, kid. Two-fifty."

"Three twenty-five."

"Don't push your luck, now," he warned, though still with a small grin on his face. "Two seventy-five. That's as far as I'll go."

"C'mon, you can do just a _little_ better than that, old man. Three hundred sounds fair, since that's almost half the price I actually bought the thing." Of course, I didn't mention that was with a different, much older currency. But it was not technically a lie, either, since I knew the rough estimated values.

"You're a stubborn one, kid." The smile on the shop owner's face never faded even as he continued. "Two-ninety ‒ take it or leave it."

I shook my head, grinning and feeling good to be able to laugh like this. I never would have expected it to happen in this kind of situation, especially with the owner of a pawn shop no less, but it was most certainly welcome regardless. "Alright, deal. I take back what I said about you being cool, though."

"I'll live," he said as he opened a draw on his side of the counter and pulled out an empty credit chit. He put the device through some sort of scanner at his computer terminal, pressed a few buttons on the holographic keyboard, and then handed me the chit. "There, now you can buy yourself some decent clothes."

"That's the plan," I snorted and took the chit. "Maybe some food too while I'm at it." My gaze drifted to the key chain. "So what about the keys? Can't be worth much, can they?"

He motioned his head to the sides a few times in thought. "I'd say about fifty."

I was fairly surprised by that price. "Really? Just for a few useless metal keys?"

The shop owner crossed his arms and nodded. "You'll actually be surprised how many collectors are out there. Salarians especially seem to like collecting sets of old locks and keys made by the other races. No idea why." He shrugged. "But it's not any of my damn business anyways. Not me to complain about earning some extra credits."

"Hey, I'm not complaining either. Fifty credits are fifty credits." I suddenly laughed a little out loud. "I'm not even mad that you're probably conning me for a low price again. Five or ten credits was the most I thought I'd get out of them."

He snickered. "Damn, should've aimed lower, huh?"

I nodded with a half-smile. "Yep. Wouldn't have even blamed you, old man. But it's too late for that now, so hand over the fifty." After he resigned and gave me a second credit chit, I looked curiously at the small card-like device before turning back to him. "Why'd you give me two chits? Can't you just put the fifty credits on the first one?"

"I could," he admitted. "But that's never a smart move. If all your money is on a single chit, and you lose it, then you're shit out of luck. If you have two and you only lose one, well... you get the idea."

"True. You have a pretty good point," I said matter-of-factly with a nod. Atop the counter, however, there were still the other items ‒ the paper USDs and the obsolete smart phone. My smile disappeared as I sighed and put the second chit in my jeans. "So what should I do with these things?"

The pawn shop owner returned his hand to his beard, which stretched down the length of his neck, and began scratching it again. "For that old money currency? I can give you the names of a few private collectors if you don't want to go through _public_ channels. They'll still pay pretty well, maybe even more." He then looked at the smartphone, a Samsung Galaxy S6. "As for that hunk of junk, it really is useless. But a lot of Salarians love that kind of stuff." He reached up and briefly scratched the back of his head before mumbling to himself. "I'll never understand their fascination with old Human tech." He shook his head. "Same as before: I can give you the names of some collectors who'll pay a decent amount of credits. The payout won't be nearly as good as the money currency, but it should be a lot better than what you got from me, kid."

A small smile began appearing on my face. _So hope isn't lost just yet!_ To be able to speak to any of those collectors, however, I was going to need some essentials. More specifically, a cheap omnitool and translator software. "Sounds good, old man. Before you give me any names, though, I'm gonna need to buy a few things off you..."


	3. C1-1) The First Night

_**Author's Note:** So this here isn't a full chapter and is technically an add-on to the first one (hence why it is called _ Chapter 1.1 _). However, this is very much an essential read as it gives the tone of the full story to come. It shows the beginning of what kind of emotional and psychological hardships our main character is going to have to deal with, as well as gets more in depth with his personality and what drives him as a person. So since that's now out of the way, I hope you like this little update, regardless of how short it may be, and you continue to read and enjoy this story!_

* * *

 **Chapter 1.1**

The First Night

I crashed on the North American-style futon with an entire day's worth of exhaustion. The old piece of furniture's mattress smelled as if it had not been washed in ages and the spring board beneath felt like it had been long broken, but in that moment it was by far the most comfortable thing I had ever laid down on. My body blatantly refused to move after touching down, not even allowing myself to crawl under the covers. After having just finished dealing with the most bizarre twenty-four hours ‒ at least ‒ of my life without getting a single ounce of sleep, I doubted I was going to move an _inch_ until waking up at least half of a day later. My eyes, however, were free to scan over my surroundings within the field of view my unmoving head permitted. The small holographic TV in the dark corner of the room. The hung-up bedsheet that was being used to separate my half from the one with the only real bed.

I didn't know what I was expecting really, but it was hard to believe a person's home on the Citadel could be so small and cramped. The possibility of the large space station having _studio apartments_ was something I just could not wrap my head around before today. I mean c'mon, wasn't this supposed the be the center of nearly all galactic civilization? Someone normal, like myself, would have thought such a place of power and wealth would not have stooped so low in residential housing and design. Alas, how wrong I was to think so ignorantly. It should have been obvious there would be areas 'worse for wear' on the lesser known parts of the Citadel; every major metropolis in history had been cursed with such a hindrance. New York City, Chicago, Los Angeles, and even Washington D.C., at least in my time, had poorer districts where the lower class thrived. I think the real thing that surprised me, however, was how _empty_ the place was. Who would have thought a pawn shop owner on the largest and richest space station in the galaxy would be so... conservative? And talking about the old man...

His name was none other than Greg. Yeah, kind of oddly normal or... bland... if someone had asked me. But hey, I wasn't going to say anything after the guy took me in for the night. Of course, I was giving him fifty credits for the arrangement, but that was besides the point... After having gone to see those antique collectors he had told me about earlier in the day, I was about fifty _thousand_ credits richer. Spending the tiniest fraction of that for a night's sleep on an actual mattress was a greatly better alternative to sleeping on the streets due to the lack of ID needed to rent out something like a hotel room. Furthermore, just because I was willing to pay him for a warm bed did not mean he needed to accept me into his home. To him, I was literally a complete stranger he had only just met several hours beforehand. He could have simply said "fuck off" and not given a care in the world about what happened to me after I finished my business with him. But he didn't. So having given him credits or not, I officially owed the man a huge personal debt. Even if he did not think I did.

Now, as much as I was practically a burnt out wreck after the day's events, my mind was not allowing me to pass out and succumb to fatigue. It was instead keeping me awake and, in turn, causing me to begin thinking over the current situation I was finding myself in. The day so far had been driven by my instincts for survival, which were the result of a combination of my natural personality and my military-family upbringing. Not once over the course of the entire misadventure had I truly stopped for a good amount of time and contemplated my position. The need to adapt as fast as possible and stay alive just stopped that from happening. But now... now the weight of all that had occurred was falling on my shoulders like a sledgehammer.

Here I was, having mysteriously been transported to the Mass Effect universe like the main character of a cheesy sci-fi flick. And to make things even more interesting, the date was May 2nd, 2182. A full year _before_ the events of the first game. Or at least it could have been, since Bioware never really mentioned which month of 2183 it all took place in. No matter the case, I was stuck here for quite some time before anything even remotely important would happen. No friends to help me out. No family to support me. Just a pawn shop owner who happened to be a good Samaritan, the credit chits in the pockets of my new clothes, and the Colt .45 now hidden below my pillow. As I thought more and more about the circumstances, the creeping pain in my chest was getting harder to ignore. The reality that I might never see my loved ones again was just becoming too much for me to handle and, eventually, there was no willpower left to hold back the tears from welling up in my eyes. I never asked to be in a video game, dammit, so who the hell said I should have been at all excited about it? No, I was all alone in a world I, frankly, knew little about. The life I had before today no longer existed for I all knew. All of the people I cared for in my life, if they were even alive in this universe's past, were all dead.

Only now, after the sheets beneath me began to wet, did my body at last decide to obey my commands and assume a fetal position. As I went on to silently sob myself to sleep, a single question bounced around my head. It was one that would continue to be the cause of both my depression and nightmares for the future to come. _What do I have to live for?_


	4. C2) Lost in Paradise

**_Author's Note:_** _Hello readers! Here's another chapter (and a full one this time) to_ A World Known _. There's nothing much else to really say for now, but I just wanted to let you all know I hope you are enjoying this story and its take on a OC/Self-Insert!_

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

Lost in Paradise

Loud, ear piercing music. Sexualized Asari dancers. The dozens of men overly indulging themselves in alcoholic beverages. It all fit perfectly in the image of a gentlemen's club. The added petty criminals and mercenaries that roamed the grounds, however, were definitely what distinguished Chora's Den from all of the others on the Citadel. The scum of the space station all gathered together in a single place, throwing their lives away at the end of a bottle. On any other day and in any other place, I would have been disgusted to have surrounded myself with such grimy individuals. But today was not any other day. And this was not any other place. At that moment, I was like every other person in the large circular room: drowning my sorrows away with drink. And know what? It was working fantastically. I never would have even imagined finding myself in such a position just a few days before, but in the meantime I didn't give a single crap about that. Being twenty-one, I was damn well sure going to take advantage of being old enough to drink the night away. And so, as I took another shot of an interesting Asari alcohol that tasted strangely similar to vodka, I allowed the worries of the night before to be washed aside and replaced with a warm buzz. _God, I'm going to get fucking_ wasted _. I don't even care if it's still early in the afternoon. You can thank last night for that._

To say my previous night's slumber was unpleasant was a ridiculously massive understatement. I did not even have real dreams or nightmares. What came to me during my sleep were memories. Of my friends, of my family... of my life back in the reality which I came from. That may have sounded like a good thing to have, but when I woke up yearning for the people I loved only to remember I was all alone in a different world, depression was pretty damn close to breaking me. After a very hot shower and a cheap breakfast left behind by Greg, who had already gone to open his pawn shop, I figured there was nothing better to do for the time being than find a sleazy bar to help forget my troubles. At least temporarily. The fact I now owned a well-crafted fake ID certainly had no small part in helping me make that decision.

I pulled out the small identification card from my pocket and examined it for what must have been the twentieth time since receiving it earlier in the morning. According to the details printed on it, I was no longer Jason Roberts, born 1995 in New York City, USA. Instead, I was now officially Jason Price, a registered Systems Alliance citizen born 2171 in Vancouver, UNAS. _Yeah, I'm a freakin' Canadian now, eh?_ It was not a lie to say it hurt me to see my past practically erased and replaced, but it helped a little to know I was, by this universe's standards, the same age as Tali and Jack if my memory served me right. Not information that was really important or valuable per se, but my corny sense of humor and tiny excuse for an ego did not mind the knowledge. _Have to take what I can get, right?_ Technically speaking though, the ID in my hand was not actually a fake. Every real Citadel ID card ever made was apparently accompanied by a built-in microchip that could be scanned for validation, whether that be by an officer's or a bartender's authorized omnitool. Just like all of the others, my card was also equipped with this microchip and it was with great thanks to Greg and a good 'friend' he had in C-Sec. After having made a transfer of "necessary funding", the old man's unnamed contact whipped up the card overnight and had it delivered early in the morning. At the end of the day, however, it was nothing more than a very convincing forgery. The card would have been able to fool any C-Sec officer who scanned it on the streets without difficulty, but under a real investigation and background check it was doomed to fail me. Regardless of that fact, it was well-worth the thousand credits spent if it meant I could safely go into a bar without being hassled.

With a sigh that was easily muted by the commotion surrounding me, I slipped the ID back into my pocket and turned to the second shot glass awaiting me on the bar counter. There was a brief moment of hesitation ‒ a small part of me knew I should stop now ‒ but eventually I took it in my hand and shot the dark blue drink down my throat. As it was my sixth one since sitting down five minutes ago, I had already grown a decent numbness to the burning sensation it would have otherwise given me. _I guess this is how people become alcoholics,_ I thought to myself while my eyes drifted to the holographic television hanging overhead. Just as in the game, the center of the large room that was the public area of Chora's Den, where the bar counter had been built, was designed like a giant, circular picnic table. However, unlike the games, there were four holo-TVs on the walls of the wide pillar behind the counter and bartender in the middle. They were all placed 90 degrees apart from each other as to allow everyone in the area to have visual access to at least one.

Currently, all of the TVs were displaying the same Galactic News Broadcasting Corporation, or GNBC, newscast being performed by a Human man who appeared to be in his mid-to-late forties. "... settled out of court with a Krogan group that charged the corporation with fraud. They paid Binary Helix for research to cure the Genophage, and then sued for their money back when nothing came of the research." Surprisingly, that actually caught my attention. Not the story itself, but the fact I remembered hearing it at some point the last time I played Mass Effect 1.

Quite suddenly, I had been switched from getting happily drunk to becoming increasingly confused. With the current day's date in mind, the timing for this story was way off. This was something that shouldn't have occurred until _after_ the attack on Eden Prime, so why was it instead happening now? Then I gave a hard, albeit slight woozy, thought on the matter. And what crossed my mind would later be seen as the first turning point of my life in this reality. _If there's even one thing different in this world, what's to say anything_ _else..._

"In other breaking news," the newscaster said as he abruptly cut off my thoughts. "The Systems Alliance and Turian Hierarchy happily finished negotiations over a military trade deal today, when the two reached an agreement in the form of a proposed naval collaboration project. To pave the way for a broader friendship between the once bitter enemies, a new ship will be co-constructed by a mixed team of Turian and Human engineers. Further information on the project has yet to be revealed, but a spokesperson for the Alliance Navy stated the ship is scheduled for completion by the next galactic standard year."

 _That's definitely the Normandy_. I looked back down from the TV to see the last two shot glasses on the counter still full, begging for me to indulge. They were to be my seventh and eighth ones and, for a split second, I almost reached out to take them. But I didn't. My hand fell back to my lap and I stared onward, not at the glasses, but beyond as my mind wandered within my own head. In this world that had become my reality, there were now only two paths I could take. The first would lead me to a downward spiral where nothing but the end of a drink would await me every morning and night. I could have stayed here and continued to pity my worthless self while steadily falling into a depression I likely would have never been able to crawl out of. Or... I could have manned-the-fuck-up, got my shit together, and went to do something useful with my life and time spent here. Having played the entire Mass Effect Trilogy two or three times, I could have gone and taken advantage of being able to practically predict the future. _Get up you jackass_ , a part my better half mentally yelled. _You know_ exactly _what you need to do, so get off your ass and stop being a fucking loser._

"Need some help finishing that?" The sudden, unexpected question snapped me out of my reverie. It was spoken by a very feminine voice from close behind and I turned in my bar stool to see an Asari looking straight at me from a couple feet away. She must have seen my questioning expression, because she asked again. "Need some help finishing your drinks?" Her speech was slow and seductive as her attractive face, decorated with exotic white patterns around her crimson red eyes, and soft blue lips inched closer with every word. "You look like you're having some trouble."

It took me a few seconds to register what was going on before I finally lowered my head to look over the Asari's body. She was wearing the same, very revealing skin-tight jumpsuit as the dancers. Realizing she was one of them, I lifted my gaze to meet with her own. "I guess you can say that. Why do you ask?"

"You bought eight glasses of one of the most expensive drinks here," she said while simultaneously extending her arm past me to rest her hand on the counter. In doing so, her blue breasts, which were barely covered by her clothing, were placed just inches away from me. "Since I noticed you're new here, I was wondering if you needed a little motivation to finish up."

Now I was just a normal guy. One who, if I were to be brutally honest, had some _very_ pent up desires and unfulfilled needs due to an extended amount of time alone, even back in my 'real world'. And just like any other average joe, I tended to get excited with a stupid big smile when a nice pair of tits was shoved in my face. Emphasis on the _nice_. They were big, round, must have been around the 34C size, and just looked so soft and... I roughly shook my head, breaking myself out of the train of thought caused by the hypnotic view. _Down boy! This ain't the time!_ "What kind of _motivation_ are we talkin' about here?" _Wrong question, you horny dumbass!_

A smile fit for a succubus spread across the Asari's face. "Well you don't seem to care about spending some credits, so maybe..." She gently put her hand on my lower thigh and slowly slid it down to my knee, sending a small shiver shooting up my spine. "...we can get ourselves a booth and I can show you something special."

 _She's a stripper, man! Besides, you know you're gonna need the money you waste on her for something more important later._ As I continued to stare into her alluring, lust-filled eyes, a large battle waged inside my mind. Would it have really hurt anyone for me to relax a bit and have a little fun? _I'm probably going to regret this._ With a sigh, I reluctantly brushed her hand off my leg. "Lady, if you had come just a minute earlier, you can bet your pretty ass I would have followed you to the back in a heartbeat."

Her smile dropped like a brick when her hand was pushed to the side. She took a couple steps back and now looked confusingly at me with crossed arms. "What happened in the last minute that changed your mind?"

I stood up from the bar stool and shrugged my shoulders. "I kicked myself in the ass and... well... realized I have better things to do than waste my life away at a club. It doesn't have anything to do with you," I quickly reassured when I noticed her frown. "You're definitely someone I'd like to spend some time with alone. _Trust_ me!" A small chuckle escaped me before my serious expression returned. "But to tell you the truth... it just wouldn't be good for me right now."

For several long, overly dramatic seconds, the unamused Asari continued to shoot a piercing glare. However, after having apparently finished processing my words, she abruptly giggled with a shake of her head and a cute little smile. "You're strange."

I nervously rubbed the back of my neck in response. "Well, uh... okay."

Seeing my confusion, her smile changed to a softer, almost sympathetic one. "I mean you're different from the other men. Most of them are Humans or Turians who come walking in looking for some fun, if you know what I'm saying." She cupped the bottom of her breasts in her hands and jiggled them a couple times to accentuate her hidden meaning. "You're the first one with full pockets to ever decline my offer."

I cocked a curious eyebrow. "How long have you worked here?"

"Almost forty standard years," she admitted after a short moment in thought.

"Wow," I said with wide eyes and an impressed half-smile. "That _is_ strange." My smile then turned into a sly smirk. "That why you're still talkin' to me?

"Don't get the wrong idea," she snorted. "Any of the other girls would have ditched you without a second thought."

I noticed she did not deny the implication of my question. "But?"

She rolled her eyes as the smile on her face grew a bit bigger. "It's nice to see something different for a change."

My following laugh was probably more than a little influenced by my drunkenness, which was getting stronger as time passed. I wasn't laughing at her reasoning, but more the wild truth of the fact I was considered 'something different.' _If only she knew._ Ignoring the puzzled gaze of the Asari, I turned to pick up the two remaining shot glasses on the counter and then motioned to give her one of them. "Take it."

Her smile suddenly dropped and her eyes slightly widened in a barely seen uneasiness. "I can't drink while I'm working."

"Aw, c'mon," I pleaded. "It's just _one_ shot. And I already paid for it anyways, so what's the harm?"

She stared into my eyes for a moment before looking down at the glass, slowly and noticeably warming up to the idea the longer she thought about it. After what felt like much more than a just a few seconds, she hesitantly took the drink from my hand with a nervous smile. "What are we toasting to?"

I raised my glass up in the air above my head and spoke a little louder than was likely appropriate. "To being different!"

That elicited a warm giggle from the Asari, who then lifted her drink in the same fashion as me with a much happier smile. "I can drink to that."

"Damn straight!" At that, we clinked our glasses together and then simultaneously drank the alcoholic beverages in a single go. She was clearly the much more experienced drinker, having downed it without any sign she minded the taste. I, on the other hand, still cringed lightly at the bitterness of it. "I think this's stronger than vodka."

She placed the now empty shot glass back on the counter and looked at me questioningly. "Vodka?"

"Yeah," I answered while putting my own down as well. "It's a really old Earth drink that tastes a _lot_ like what we just had. It's usually made from distilled grains, so it's pretty easy and cheap to make ‒ probably why you don't serve it here."

Her gaze shifted down to the ground as she drifted away in her thoughts. There was only a brief silence between us before her eyes widened in what appeared to be realization. "I remember now. There was another Human here about three weeks ago ‒ said the same thing." She abruptly grimaced at the memory. "He had too many drinks and started accusing Tiso..." She motioned her head at the Turian bartender currently standing behind the counter. "... of putting food coloring in vodka and selling it as alien liquor."

"Must've been Russian," I joked with a chuckle. When she again peered at me with a confused expression, I simply shook my head and dismissed it with a wave of the hand. "Don't worry about it."

She shrugged in disinterest before turning her head to look over her shoulder. After a moment of scanning over the surrounding ongoings of Chora's Den, she returned to meet my gaze with a soft smile. "It's been nice talking to you, but I need to get back to work now."

"Right, I've probably been takin' up too much of your time," I admitted apologetically with a half-smile of my own. "Wouldn't wanna get you in trouble, now."

"Yes, I'd like to keep my job." She lightly giggled and placed her hand on my left forearm. "But really, you're a sweetheart. Don't be afraid to come back if you ever start getting a little bored." Her left eye shot an affectionate wink before she suddenly leaned forward and planted a small kiss on my cheek. "That's for the drink."

The unexpected sensation of her luscious blue lips pressing against my skin had an almost paralyzing effect on both my mind and body. It most definitely was _not_ something I had foreseen happening and the act, once my brain registered it, instantly and effortlessly caused my cheeks to glow a bright red. "Um..."

Noticing me blush, she lightly laughed a final time and then turned around to walk away, likely to serve another paying customer. She looked back over her shoulders after only a few steps and wiggled her fingers as she waved goodbye. "The name's Aleena! Ask for me next time you're here, okay?"

I returned the farewell with a wave of my own and a wide, stupid grin. "Uh, sure thing!" For the next several seconds before she disappeared within the crowd, I continued to stare at her in a sort of trance, simply in awe of what had just transpired. Everything that had been clawing at my sanity for the past twenty-four hours seemed to have vanished from my mind, like a heavy weight had been lifted off my shoulders. No longer was I thinking about whether I would ever see my family again or not. Nor was I wondering if I would survive the ugly and war-torn future to come. At that very moment, I was only thinking about a certain Asari named Aleena I had just met. And wondering when I would see her next. Sure, there was a very small voice in the back of my head trying to tell me her name sounded strangely familiar, but for the time-being I was too mesmerized to give it any attention. Oh, how I should have listened to that tiny voice.

—

"Are you crazy, or just plain stupid?" It had only been a little over twenty minutes since I left Chora's Den and Greg was already glaring at me with a deathly thousand-yard stare from behind the pawn shop counter. It was as if I had said the most bizarre, absolutely psychotic thing in the entire galaxy. I mean, I did just ask him if he knew any decent arms dealers, but it wasn't _that_ crazy of a question. "Getting you a fake ID is one thing, and letting you stay at my place for the night was out of the kindness of my heart. But connecting you with black market dealers?"

"I really need the weapons," I declared like a beggar. "Please."

"What the hell do you need weapons for?" With a slightly confused expression on his face, he pointed an accusing finger at my right hip. "You have a damn pistol right there."

In a sudden fear of it being visible from under my new sky blue hoody, I inadvertently reached both hands for the sidearm holster currently carrying my M1911. "How do you...?"

"I'm not an idiot, kid," he interrupted with a disappointed shake of his head. "I've seen enough hidden weapons in my days to know when someone's trying to hide a gun under their clothes."

There was a short moment of defeated silence before I spoke again. "Was it that obvious?"

He gave an amused snort. "Hell no, I just have a damn good eye."

A loud sigh of relief escaped my lips. "Either way, it isn't an option." _I sure as hell can't tell him it's a two hundred and fifty-year-old antique, either_.

"Whatever, kid. It's honestly none of my business." Greg then leaned forward over the counter and whispered just loud enough for me to hear. "But you aren't going on a murderous rampage, are you?"

That forced me to take an incredulous step backwards. "What? _No_ , of course not! Why would you even think that?!"

"I only met you yesterday," he admitted with a shrug. "How am I supposed to know what goes on in your head?"

I initially opened my mouth to retort, but quickly found myself at the loss of a good counter. Eventually, I instead closed my eyes with a suppressed sigh. "Okay, good point. But _no_ ," I hastily added once my eyes were open again. "I am _not_ going to go around shooting random people, old man. Now can you tell me where to find a goddamn weapon dealer already?!"

He lifted his open palms in a surrendering gesture. "Alright, alright. Just calm down before your head explodes." Before speaking again, he lowered his arms and activated his standard orange-colored omnitool. "I'm sending you information on a Turian that goes by the name of Blackjack. He's not the friendliest sort, but he'll get you gear if you have the money."

I raised my left arm to chest height and, with a specific motion of my fingers and wrist, turned on my own omnitool. Unlike Greg's, it instead glowed a light blue due to being a helplessly cheap and outdated model. I couldn't help but cringe slightly when attempting to select the messenger app ‒ my index finger phased through the holographic interface of the colloidal device and poked my arm. _Still need to get used to that._ "Where do I find him?"

"Take a Fast Transit taxi to Arm Five's factory district and follow the instructions I sent you." No more than a second later after he closed his omnitool did my own report the successful transfer with the electronic _ping_ of its notification alarm. "Just don't do anything stupid and you'll be fine."

I hastily skimmed over my inbox before deactivating my omnitool, planning to carefully read the details of the message while riding the taxi service to Arm Five. "Right..." His last remark certainly attracted my attention, but I decided to ignore it instead of pursue my curiosity. "So why's his nickname Blackjack? Isn't that a little too Human for a Turian?"

"No idea, but don't ask him."

"Why," I asked, cocking a questioning eyebrow.

"Like I said, he isn't exactly a friendly kind of guy. Not like Turians to usually be, but he doesn't classify as an asshole because he's rude in conversations." Greg leaned forward over the counter again, only this time the expression on his face was frighteningly serious as his piercing gaze met mine. "I'd do well to remember that if I were you, kid."

—

As most Mass Effect players from the 'real world' knew, the Citadel consisted of the central ring and five arms, called the Presidium and Wards respectively. What all of them did _not_ likely know, however, was that each arm was numbered and classified based on its economic focus. For example, Arm One was the heart of the station's cultural landscape, being home to attractions like Silver Sun Strip and the wealthiest entrepreneurs in Council Space. One would find casinos, theme parks, and companies dedicated to social practices such as fashion and clothing design. Arm Five, on the other hand, was focused entirely on industrial manufacturing. It was where the largest and most productive factories were established. Minerals, ores, and other artificial materials imported from around the galaxy were transported there to be forged and crafted into anything a person could think of, ranging from everyday household items to military-grade weaponry and ships. Each arm of the Citadel had a large residential zone accompanying their economic districts, with the exception of Arm One which its entirety served as a single metropolis similar in nature to Las Vegas. These zones were comparable to small cities and were where the average citizens of the station ‒ those who worked at the factories and offices ‒ lived.

Unlike the ridiculous and unrealistic portrayal in the Mass Effect games, traversing a densely populated, forty-six-kilometer-long space station was _not_ an effortless task. It certainly did not take only about five minutes to get from point A to point B. The Citadel was a massive megacity all on its own and it showed when one encountered the horrifyingly normal problems expected from such. Crowded streets, traffic jams ‒ yes, there were predesignated 'roadways' for aircars ‒ horrible public transportation ‒ even if it was automated ‒ etcetera, etcetera. So with that in mind, I needed a few distractions to keep me busy during the hour-long trip.

 _Alright, first things first. What's Shepard's backstory, and what does he or she look like?_ With my omnitool activated and wirelessly connected to the extranet, I typed in "Commander Shepard" on the browser's default search engine. Or at least tried to without getting annoyed every time my finger pushed too far through the hologram and pressed another letter. The results of the search soon popped up in the blink of an eye and I immediately selected the first link, bringing me to a GNBC news article covering Torfan. _Okay, so_ Elizabeth _Shepard's a woman. The gender doesn't matter to me, but… Mindoir Survivor... Butcher of Torfan... yeah, that's just_ screaming _Paragon._ Now as a person who was typically driven by a strong sense of morals, principles, and a stubborn need to protect others, what I read was not exactly reassuring. To be honest, I didn't even know if I _wanted_ to be part of her crew anymore. _Oh boy_ , I thought with a sigh and shake of my head. _Sure can't say it won't be interesting..._ After continuing to read and skim through several more links, I also began to notice something essential was missing. Not a single news story or article showed an actual picture of the Commander. And when I filtered the search engine to only display images, nothing but photos of the aftermaths of Mindoir and Torfan were shown in the results. I thought it was strange at first, but then slowly realized it made sense. _She_ is _part of the most elite Spec Ops unit in the Alliance. Only makes sense they would keep the big details of her identity hidden, like how it is... or_ was _with USSOCOM's JSOC._

I closed my eyes and released another sigh as my head leaned back over the faux leather aircar seat, which was surprisingly comfortable given the fact the taxi was a relatively cheap public transportation model. The soft cushioning felt like the most pleasant surface I had rested on in ages, quickly casting a deep drowsiness upon me. The alcoholic drinks from earlier _may_ have also influenced it a bit, but that wasn't important. _Maybe I don't need a distraction after all_ , were my final thoughts before I dozed off into a slumber.

* * *

 _An endless plane of rich green grass. A gentle breeze cool to the touch. The air fresh and sweet. A clear, light blue sky. The bright, life-giving sun shining upon the land. A world of pure harmony. Of peace and tranquility._

 _There was only one word to describe it: Beautiful. It brought a warm, euphoric sensation to my heart. I felt so alive. So strong. Yet so calm. So irenic._

 _How did I get here?_

 _What did it matter? I was here. I was alive. I was at peace._

 _But I was not happy. Why was I not happy?_

 _It mattered not. I was here. I was alive. I was at peace._

 _But it did matter. I should have been happy. Why was I at peace and not happy?_

 _Happiness was not necessary. You were at peace._

 _Why did I say 'you'? Who was that? That was not me._

 _I was you. You were me. You were alive. You were at peace._

 _But I was not happy. I was not at peace. You were not me. Who were you?_

 _I was you. I was the world. I was peace._

 _That could not be. I was me. You were not me. You were someone else!_

 **WE WERE YOUR SALVATION.**

 _The grass fields now turned an empty wasteland. The breeze now a loud, angry hurricane. The air now toxic and sour to breathe. The sky now a darkened gray. The sun now glowing a malevolent red. A world of total misery. Of chaos and death._

YOU LEFT US!

 _I did not leave!_

YOU FORGOT US!

 _I did not forget!_

YOU LIED TO US!

 _No! I did not lie! Leave me alone!_

 **EMBRACE YOUR DESTINY.**

* * *

I jumped up from my seat with a loud gasp and several drops of sweat pouring down the sides of my face. My eyes were wide in horror, the sense of shock and dread pumping adrenaline through my body. For a brief moment where the entire world around me seemed to remain at a standstill, my aching heart felt as if it was about to burst from my chest. To put it plainly, I was absolutely _terrified_. And with no real idea of what caused it. The only thing I knew for sure, after allowing my senses to fully comprehend my surroundings, was that I was back inside the automatic aircar taxi, still flying towards Arm Five. It took a bit longer for me to calm down and cease hyperventilating, but eventually I eased back into the seat cushion and took a few slower, more controlled breathes. _What the living hell was_ that _?_ A few extra exhales passed through my nose before I closed my eyes and wiped away the dripping sweat. _That almost seemed like..._ My eyes suddenly widened in fear again as a dreadful thought crossed my mind. _No! That's over thinking things! It's_ just _a stupid nightmare. Nothing more._

I raised both of my hands to cover my face and hide behind my own belief, attempting to find truth in the shaky words of my thoughts. But... a small part of me knew. A part of me that would only grow bigger as the days, even years went by. It knew I was lying to myself. And that this was only the beginning.

 **CHAPTER END**

* * *

 _ **Author's Note #2:** So how was the second full chapter of _A World Known _? Did you like it? Did you hate it? Write a review and let me know; each one motivates me to write faster and better!_

 _On a side note, for all of those who did not know what it meant, USSOCOM JSOC stands for: **U** nited **S** tates **S** pecial **O** perations **Com** mand **J** oint **S** pecial **O** perations **C** ommand. It is pronounced something like **U-S So-Com J-Sock**. Look it up for more details!_


	5. C3) Small Beginnings

_"_ _According to the ancient Chinese proverb, a journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step." - John F. Kennedy_

 **Chapter 3**

Small Beginnings

 _Two Months Later..._

A normal family of four. Two parents side-by-side, standing behind their two children. The father stood on the right as the tallest form, his short, golden brown hair cut in a high fade and dropping down to his chin to present itself in a subtle beard. His pale blue eyes showed an aging weariness, but a powerful strength as his left arm gently wrapped around the waist of the much shorter brunette at his side ‒ the mother of the gathering. The woman's straight, darker brown hair flowed smoothly down to her chest while her soft, hazel eyes displayed a soul filled with love and care. Her own hand was placed on the shoulder of the young boy at her front, who's height ran just past his mother's hips. A big, flamboyant grin showing white teeth was spread across his face from ear-to-ear and the hair above his head was thick and slightly bushy, likely having been unattended to for a fair amount of time. The boy's eyes were closed, concealing the eyes inherited by his mother. The last figure in the group ‒ the oldest son ‒ stood in front of the father, standing taller than his mother but shorter than the middle-aged man behind him. His kind smile lacked the same childish enthusiasm of his younger sibling's, but his dark brown eyes, clearly different in color from the others', still showed happiness and contentment.

The small portrait in my hand put a sober smile on my face, bringing a mixed feeling of both delight and sorrow. The picture was meant to be one of warmth and joy, but it instead carried along a feeling of despair. It reminded me of the one thing that meant more to myself than anything else in the world. The one thing I would never see again for the rest of my life. My mother... my father... my little brother... my _family._ _They_ were my world. And every time I looked at that picture, it reminded me how truly lost and alone I was in this world that I did not belong. Yet... through all of that misery and all of that dread, it also reminded me of who I was. Where I came from. What I should have strived to be, no matter the time and place of my existence. The knowledge my loved ones would have wanted me to do my best and make my mark, even through thick and thin, helped carry me on. So that is why, though lacking a spirited happiness, I still smiled at the sight of the photo.

With a long, deep breath, I closed my eyes momentarily before sliding the small picture back into my leather wallet. As I finally returned my gaze to my surroundings, I found myself looking up at the Relay Monument itself. The dark lilac, alien statue, made of its equally otherworldly metal, shined and glimmered under the artificial sun of the Presidium. The purple luminescence scattered throughout its surface gave an eerie feeling that it was more than a mere monument. That it was true instrument ‒ live and active. Perhaps that had something to do with the fact it _was_ an actual Mass Relay and I was the only soul in the galaxy who knew. _A dagger aimed at the heart of all galactic civilization and no one has a clue_.

I lightly shook my head in agitation; the idea that not a single government figure ever had the thought to make any in-depth scientific study of the Citadel, along with the Keepers it was home to, disturbed me to no end. When used as a plot device for a video game? It was a bearable annoyance. When it became a fact of reality? That was when I would begin questioning the mental capacity of 'intelligent' life. _What a bunch of fools._

 _Beep beep... beep beep_...

The sound of my omnitool's basic ringtone suddenly grabbed my attention away from my wandering thoughts, alerting me to an incoming call. I raised my left arm up without hesitation and activated the holographic accessory ‒ it being the common orange instead of blue now that I had upgraded to a Cipher model III ‒ before reading the caller ID. With a sigh, I swiped up along the interface to answer. "Yeah, old man?"

" _Don't 'yeah' me, kid_ ," came the immediate response from Greg over the omnitool's speakers. " _Have some respect when you answer a call."_

My lips twitched into a half-smirk. "Yeah, yeah, I'll work on it. So what's up?" At that moment, my attention was unexpectedly drawn away by a child's laughter. I turned my head to the left in search of the source to see a small family of three standing about two dozen yards away and walking in my general direction. Two adults and one child; for most it wasn't a sight any different from your run-of-the-mill here on the Citadel. What made this specific trio so noteworthy for me, though, was the fact the mother and the daughter were both Asari. Over the course of the two months I had been living on the space station, I had seen _many_ interspecies couples and families, especially ones between Humans, Asari, and Turians. However, this was honest-to-god the first time I had ever seen an Asari so young. And I dared to say the display was so damn adorable.

The child was showing off a wide, exuberant grin only the innocence of youth could create and appeared to be no older than five or six years old. I, of course, had no real idea what Asari standards for early child growth were, but since the adult man standing near her did not appear to be approaching his senior citizen years, I assumed the physical appearance of Asari changed similarly to Humans' up until their late teens to early twenties. That too, however, was under the assumption the man was indeed the child's father, and not a step-father of some sort. In any case, both the Human man, looking to be in his late twenties to early thirties with pale skin and blonde hair, and the Asari mother, her skin a vibrant cobalt blue with white swirl patterns along her cheeks and forehead, had their child gingerly lifted about half of a foot into the air as they playfully swung her between their arms. Both parents' voices were clouded by joyful laughter and the fair distance they stood away from me, but the daughter's words were as clear as day. "Higher! Swing me higher!" Not a power in the world could have yielded the warm smile that spread across my face. I didn't give a single damn if someone would have called me a softie.

" _-ou listening to me?_ " Greg's agitated voice snapped me back to the ongoing call. " _Hey, kid! Am I talking to a wall here?_ "

"Sorry," I replied immediately, my hand rising to rub my forehead in slight embarrassment. "I got distracted."

A low growl emanated from the speakers, sounding like something along the lines of 'damn kid'. " _Pay attention, because I'm not repeating myself again!_ " He momentarily paused to let the point sink in before continuing. " _I got a call._ "

Those simple words caused my entire body to freeze the instant they were spoken. For the next moment, as I wandered through my mind and mentally prepared for the coming news, I remained still and silent before finally mustering up the ability to speak. "I'm... guessing this wasn't just any call."

Greg snorted. " _You're damn right it wasn't. Your offer managed to get some poor soul's attention and now they want to meet with you._ "

My eyes briefly closed once again ‒ my mind taking another few seconds to process the information ‒ as a long and drawn-out breath entered through my nose before audibly exiting through my mouth. "Alright... what can you tell me about the client?"

" _Not much_ ," he admitted with a hint of annoyance. " _They didn't give me a name or a race, just a location._ "

I raised an eyebrow, even if the man could not see it. "Couldn't you tell what the person was by the language they spoke?"

" _It's not like the damn omnitool tells me what language it's translating_ ," Greg bitterly pointed out before releasing a sigh. " _The best I can tell you is to look out for a Humanoid woman with a French accent. That's all I could get out of the person's voice._ "

My right hand came up to rub the back of my neck while my mouth accommodated a sigh of its own. "That isn't exactly helpful." _Nor does this_ at all _sound suspicious_ , I thought to myself sarcastically. Perhaps I was being paranoid, but I couldn't change the fact that the circumstances of this meeting were already setting off alarm bells in my head. For all intents and purposes, I did not feel entirely comfortable leaving to meet a stranger in some dark alley ‒ at least that was how my imagination put it happening. They could have been some sort of serial killer or something for all I knew. Sure, that was a long shot of being the case, but people never called me a skeptic for nothing. In my humble opinion, carefree attitudes in serious situations tended to get people in trouble.

" _It may not be helpful, kid, but it's all I got._ " The pawn shop owner's voice seemed to considerably soften when he spoke again after a few seconds. " _I know this sounds fishier than a man selling candy in a van, but that woman sounded as if she was about to piss her pants when I talked to her. If that's worth a damn to you._ "

I leaned back into the public bench I had been seated on for the past half of an hour and sucked my teeth at the information. It couldn't be helped; I was a complete sucker for the helpless and innocent. It was probably an aspect of my personality that could have been heavily exploited, but I wouldn't have changed that part of me for the world. "Barely known me for two months and you already know my weaknesses."

Greg chuckled mockingly at my claim. " _Get your bleeding heart to Arm Five, freeloader._ "

"Don't be like that," I snorted with a smirk. "I thought we had a pretty good friendship going on here."

" _Friendship my ass. You've been living in my home and eating my food like a leech._ "

"A _leech_ ," I asked in feigned shock. "I've been paying you fifty credits a day since the beginning! That's over three thousand in your pockets, ya know!"

" _Ach, minor details._ " Greg attempted to sound sincerely angry, but I swore I could see the sly grin on his smug face. " _I sent the location and time of the meeting to your omnitool, now get out of my hair._ "

"You don't have hair, remember?" The reference to the old man's balding head was the icing on the cake and I abruptly disconnected the call, leaving my mischievous laughter as the final thing to enter his ears.

—

 _Arm Five, Upper Wards_

 _Residential District_

The Serpent Nebula, a collection of different gases and cosmic dust on a colossal scale, was truly a sight to behold. It's various shades of blues and purples that surrounded the Citadel were best described as perfect eye candy, providing a similar feeling of awe and wonder one would acquire from viewing the Aurora Borealis back on Earth. As I continued staring up at the galactic phenomenon, seated on a lone chair at the public rooftop of an apartment complex, the feelings of intrigue and amazement grew ever bigger inside me.

All throughout my life, I had always found great beauty in the stars that loomed above in the night sky. They gave me a sense of greatness; an impression that no matter how big or small my life felt, there was always a larger world out there waiting to be discovered. Feelings such as these were likely the reasons why I had been easily drawn to the Science Fiction genre in media and, in turn, to the Mass Effect games. Meeting intelligent life outside Humanity's solar system, traveling to new and uncharted worlds, witnessing galactic wonders only ever explored on the Science Channel ‒ I could have gone on for hours. Space, in my eyes, was simply the most beautiful and awe-inspiring frontier to have ever been traversed. And while I indulged myself in the breathtaking view of one of its many spectacles, there was only a single song I felt needed to be played over my omnitool and Bluetooth earphones.

 _Fly me to the Moon,_

 _Let me play, among the stars._

 _Let me see what Spring is like on,_

 _a-Jupitar and Mars._

 _/_

 _In other words..._

 _Hold my hand._

 _In other words..._

 _Baby kiss me._

 _/_

 _Fill my heart with song,_

 _And let me sing, forever more._

 _You are all I long for,_

 _All I worship, and adore._

As Frank Sinatra's voice echoed in my head, I pulled out my wallet for the second time that day and looked at the family photo sitting within, my lips forming into a soft smile.

 _In other words,_

 _Please be true._

 _/_

 _In other words,_

 _I love you._

For the next thirty or so seconds of the song, a crescendo of instruments ranging from trumpets, saxophones, and even a flute took over. It started out strong and vibrant until slowly cooling back down to lead the way for Sinatra to begin singing once more. I took the opportunity before his voice picked up again to return my picture and wallet to my pocket, then leaned my head back onto the chair and closed my eyes, allowing the swing music to take over and fill my senses.

 _Fill my heart with song,_

 _Let me sing, forever more._

 _You are all I long for,_

 _All I worship, and adore._

 _/_

 _In other words..._

Sinatra's voice and the music now raised together, powerful and lively again in preparation for the finale.

 _Please be true!_

 _/_

 _In other words!_

 _In other words!_

 _/_

 _I... love..._

 _/_

 _You!_

With the musical piece now over, I reopened my eyes to gaze upon the Serpent Nebula once again, content and incredibly satisfied I had managed earlier to find my favorite Frank Sinatra song on the extranet. It was hard, don't get me wrong. But in the end, it was totally worth spending an hour scrounging through search engines for a quality download. I took a long, deep breath, smelling the air of Arm Five that was not so fresh and clean as the Presidium's, then deactivated my omnitool and removed the small Bluetooth devices in my ears. Not a second later did I lift my other arm to look at the time presented by my wristwatch. _Guess I should get ready_.

With a serious change of attitude and demeanor, I stood up from my seat, picked up the backpack laying on the floor besides the chair, and began walking to the closest public restroom. A minute later, I was already inside an empty stall with the bag open, revealing its contents. Within was an urban gray softshell jacket with a hood, a tactical face shield donned in the same color, a thin layered tactical vest equipped with a shield generator, and the military-grade weapons I had purchased from Blackjack nearly two months before ‒ a M-7 Lancer assault rifle and a M-92 Mantis sniper rifle, both collapsed into their compact forms. I removed the set of clothing and started changing into them, but decided to leave the firearms inside, having assumed I would not need them for the meeting. After all, my Colt .45 was still inside the sidearm holster attached to my right hip, now hidden by the softshell jacket. I never left home without it in these strange and mysterious times.

Returning to the rooftop patio a couple minutes later, it being encased by an eight-foot-tall tank of glass due to the lack of artificial atmosphere at this elevation, I began making my way back to my original seat before taking notice of the lone figure standing only a few yards away from it. The first thing to immediately catch my attention was the unique design and appearance of a Quarian environmental suit. The second thing was the very... feminine figure that told me the person in question was a woman. _Damn, the games really weren't exaggerating those hips._ I quickly ridded my imagination of the lecherous thought ‒ it not being helped by the sad truth that this was the first time I had seen a female Quarian with my own eyes ‒ with a brief shake of my head. Considering the current time and the fact she was the only person within eyesight, the most reasonable conclusion was that she was the 'client' that had arranged for the meeting here.

The Quarian woman had her back facing towards me as I began slowly walking to her. She was leaning over the edge of the rooftop's protective railing ‒ glass couldn't have been the only thing stopping people from falling to their deaths ‒ and gazing upon the cityscape several dozen stories below, supporting her body with her crossed arms. The hood and exterior cloths covering her suit were decorated by an intricate pattern of intersecting, jet black circles with a crimson red background. I thought it was an interesting design, but the seriousness of the situation kept me focused on the matter at hand. Once I reached about five yards away, I ceased my movements and lightly dropped my backpack on the floor. "Nice view, ain't it?"

She had clearly not noticed my approach, because the sound of my voice instantly caused her to jump up a bit in surprise. When she turned around to confront me, however, the pair of silver orbs that glowed through the black-tinted visor appeared more to be angry rather than startled. "W-who are you," she abruptly asked through her helmet's electronic vocalizer. Her accent was, interestingly, like a French one. "What do you want?!"

Her reaction was honestly to be expected when one put my appearance into account. My jacket was zipped up and hid the tactical vest laying underneath, so in retrospect I should have looked like any other stranger. But with the addition of the hood covering my head and the face shield blocking half of my face from view? I probably looked like a very suspicious hoodlum. "Woah there, it's alright," I said gently as my hands raised in a surrendering gesture. "I'm not gonna mug you or anything like that."

I could almost feel her piercing stare as she spent the next moment silently criticizing me. "Then why hide your face behind a mask?"

 _Called it._ "To be fair, I can't see your face either and you don't see me complaining." Not that she could see it, but a smirk stretched across my face.

My corny attempt at a little humor seemed to make her body ease up some, though she still maintained her distance and watched me with an untrusting glare. "I have a reason for this mask," she stated with a hint of bitterness. "You do not, so answer my question before I fry you with my omnitool."

Perhaps a normal person would have responded to such a threat with a nervous sweat, but in my case I happened to chuckle in amusement. "Hey, do you always threaten to electrocute people who offer help?"

At first she looked at me with confusion in her eyes, but after only a few seconds her posture calmed down entirely as the realization dawned on her. She hastily looked over the rest of the rooftop to be sure we were along before speaking in nearly a whisper. "You are the one I called?"

"Yep," I answered swiftly with the drop of my hands. No more than a moment later did I move over to the metal railing and gaze down at the metropolis myself, leaving only a mere yard and a half between the two of us. "Just one question though, before we get started." I waited for her to give a hesitant nod, then continued. "Why the secrecy, besides the obvious reasons? You could've at least given a name or race so it would've been easier to identify you."

To this the Quarian lowered her head slightly, seemingly in some bit of discomfort. "Maybe, but it does not look like you had trouble finding me."

"Well I don't see anyone else out here," I declared with a snort, then turned to fully face her. "If you had chosen anywhere else, I wouldn't have had known who to look for."

Now she dropped her head even lower in what appeared to be embarrassment or... shame? "This is true." There was another three-second pause before she looked back up into my own eyes and finally surrendered to my question. "I thought if you knew I was a Quarian..."

I interrupted and finished for her, my voice taking on a sympathetic tone. "That I wouldn't have helped you?" She proceeded to nod in confirmation, in which I then went on to release a sigh. _Guess I should've seen that one coming. Forgot about all the racism towards Quarians on the Citadel._ My inner thoughts forced a grimace to cross my face, though it too was likely hidden from view by my adorned mask. "Listen, I'm the last person you'll ever see being racist. Okay?"

She hesitated to answer, but her gaze never broke its lock with mine. It was not as if she personally knew me to put complete faith in my words, but hopefully the lack of any hostility from me so far was a first step in mending the trust issue. "Okay. I... appreciate it."

I lightly shook my head in dismissal. "No need to thank me for being a decent human- I mean... sentient being." Disregarding the questioning stare she gave me for the hiccup, my eyes returned to the view over the railing. "Anyways, we should probably get down to business before someone sees us and gets suspicious. So..." The tone of my voice changed from one of light playfulness to another of complete and cold seriousness. "What do you need?"

For this, the Quarian's answer was almost immediate. "A bodyguard."

"A bodyguard..." I looked back at her with a raised eyebrow. "Wouldn't a Krogan be a better fit?"

"Of course," she admitted sharply. "But I would not be here asking you if I had the money for one."

"Touché. So what should I expect to be protecting you from?"

"It is not anything dangerous, really." With a sigh of her own, she leaned back over the railing and peered over the space station's 'horizon'. "Just an angry used-ship salesman."

All that answer did was make me _very_ curious. "Huh... how'd you get a ship salesman angry at you?"

She gave an annoyed groan, apparently not having wanted to face this kind of question. "It is not important."

"It is to me," I declared matter-of-factly.

"Why," she abruptly asked with more than a touch of anger. "If you get your money, what does it matter?!"

To say I was jolted by the sudden antagonism was an understatement. My eyes were wide in obvious shock and I took a small step away from the woman. "Hey now, no need to get all..." I never finished the sentence.

"Is this some kind of trick?" Her body began to mildly shake as her voice grew louder and her three-fingered hands closed into fists at her sides. "Is this a game to you? Why are you so _nice_?!"

That's when it clicked. That was when I understood where this seemingly out-of-nowhere rancor came from. This Quarian girl, likely not much older than myself if at all, must have experienced so much racism and abuse during her stay on the Citadel that she could not help but hold a complete distrust of anyone of a different species. She could no longer _comprehend_ kindness from another sentient being, with the sole exception of her own people. As a person who despised racism and prejudice quite passionately, this realization shook me to the core. And it showed when I failed to utter a single word for several seconds. When I finally did manage to speak, it was slow and gentle. "How long have you been on your Pilgrimage?"

The woman was near-instantly knocked back by the question, a look of complete surprise in her eyes. She too seemed to reach a failure with words for several moments before eventually releasing a quiet and cracked voice. "You... you know about the Pilgrimage?"

"Yeah," I answered delicately. "I do."

She shook her head in disbelief. "I have never met a non-Quarian before who knew about it."

 _To be honest, I know a lot of shit I shouldn't know about_ , is what I wanted to say. But instead, my reply came out as, "You'll be surprised how much you can learn on the extranet if you're actually willing to look." It wasn't necessarily a lie if the two hundred-year-old music on my omnitool had any say in the matter, but in this instance, it was simply a _much_ better explanation than the real one.

Given the circumstances, it was not hard for an awkward laconism to grow between us. I did not know exactly how long it lasted because I was too busy paying attention to her gradually changing body language, but it went on for much longer than I felt comfortable with. Eventually, as time passed, the Quarian woman ceased her nervous shaking and stressed breathing, calming down enough to look me in the eye with a somewhat controlled demeanor once again. "Nine months."

My brain almost didn't register her voice; I was too caught up in thinking about my own plan to ease the situation further to be prepared for her to talk first. "What?"

"I have been on my Pilgrimage for nine months."

"Oh." I slowly nodded my head in understanding, then took a deep, but quiet breath. "And how many months have you been on the Citadel?"

For a fraction of a second, her gaze faltered away from mine before she recomposed herself. "Eight."

For all I knew, that equaled to eight months of racial abuse and torture. Just _imagining_ what she had to go through during that time to reach this level of mistrust and paranoia angered me to no end. I was sure my distaste of it was showing too, because the woman took a quick step backwards in what I could only guess was fearful concern. Seeing her body language change in a negative fashion, I pushed aside my feelings for the time being and straightened myself. "I'm sorry."

At this point I was assuming confusion was plastered all over her face. That or a very big blanket of disbelief. "What... what are you sorry for?" The next thing she said was a barely heard mumble. "You did nothing wrong."

Instead of explain, I simply expanded on my original statement. "On behalf of all Humanity, I'm sorry." Apologizing was, honestly, the best I could think of. I never had been very good at being an incredibly social person who knew the best thing to say in any given conversation. And if I was to be even more blunt, all I had been doing this entire time, as well as all the times in the past, was say the first things that came to my mind. I wasn't a paragon Shepard or anything like that; I couldn't maneuver through a conversation or debate like a well-versed politician or diplomat. My instincts and personality told me to follow my heart, so I merely obeyed. Hopefully that was not going to backfire.

Fortunately, it ended up working out _a lot_ better than I thought it would. _Un_ fortunately, I didn't initially realize it.

What would have caused such turmoil, a person might have asked? Well it would have been the very moment the Quarian woman began holding herself in her own arms and silently crying, of course. I obviously couldn't _see_ the tears behind her visor, but hearing her start sniffling was more than enough for me to figure it out. Seeing this seriously made me think I messed up somewhere in the conversation. _Big_ time.

"What is your name," she suddenly asked weakly, her voice now properly conveying her broken state.

I was slightly startled by the abruptness of the question, but then quickly found myself feeling like a complete idiot. _Don't even know each other's name and we already had an emotional moment together!_ I nearly laughed at the absurdity of it all, but managed to go no further than a hidden smile behind my face shield. "Jason. The name's Jason. I would tell you my last name, but then that would defeat the purpose of my mask." I paused for a moment afterwards, chuckling a little at my corniness, and allowed her to register the information before speaking again. "How about you? What's your name?"

A wet sniff came from her vocalizer as she answered. "Sala'Morre nar - _sniff_ \- Rayya."

Rayya. Why did that sound familiar? I _knew_ that name... but from where? In my mind, it felt like much more time had passed than the actual few seconds it took for it to finally come to me. _The Rayya! Tali's birth ship!_ After remembering, it was hard to imagine how I had forgotten to begin with, even if it was momentarily. Realistically, however, it should have been expected.

The truth of the situation was that I had never been that big of a fan of Mass Effect. Sure, I had the entire trilogy and most DLC on my computer back home ‒ my _real_ home ‒ and had done a few playthroughs, but those had taken place over the course of a month or two at a time. It was not like I had ever been so engrossed in the franchise to the point of fanboyism. I was just a simple gamer who enjoyed Mass Effect only _slightly_ more than the dozens of other game series that sat in my possession. Also given the fact that my favorite games of the three were the second and third, not including the ending, it shouldn't have been at all surprising I would immediately remember Tali's "vas Neema" and "vas Normandy" surnames and forget the "nar Rayya" one that was only used in the first game. Frankly speaking, what _should_ have been hard to imagine was how I had remembered at all. It had, in any case, been almost a year since I last played any of the games before I was transported to the universe they were home to.

I quickly shook away my wandering mind before the thoughtful silence became suspect, then lifted my hand in greeting. "Nice you meet you Miss More-e."

There was another wet sniff as she returned the gesture with a handshake, although I swore it sounded a bit like a snort. "It is Mo _rr_ e," she corrected, rolling her tongue to pronounce the "rr".

 _Like the Spanish double R?_ "Ah, gotcha. Mor- _thh_... Mor- _th_..." A frowned crossed my face and I sighed in defeat. "Sorry... I've never been good at that."

Sala responded with a small, but still warm-hearted laugh. And _that_ I took as progress. "It is fine." She then turned her head to the left, once again meeting her gaze with the colossal nebula surrounding the Citadel and the single star the Widow system contained. From our current spot, the 'sun' was nearly completely visible from its distant position somewhere behind the ring of the Presidium, its illumination dimmed enough by the particles of the Serpent for viewing via the naked eye.

When I looked at her at that very moment, I saw something the wasn't there before. Within her eyes was now a certain strength they had lacked just a minute earlier. There was still a touch of hurt and sorrow; that wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. But now there was a bright stability settled inside. One that I was more than happy to see, making my previous frown reverse into a smile. "Well," I began as my eyes too drifted over the railing. "I don't think I'll be making money anytime soon."

She looked back at me with eyes holding a slightly surprised curiosity. "Why do you say that?"

I sheepishly scratched the back of my head through the hood of my jacket. "Because I decided to help ya out for free."

It took barely a second for the words to register in her head, causing the glowing orbs behind her visor to grow exponentially. "Wha... but..."

I interrupted her with a wave of my hand. "Don't worry about it ‒ I don't think I'd be able to take your money. Not without..." My mouth fumbled with the words for a moment before choosing the simpler option of dialogue. "Regretting it."

Sala stared at me in disbelief long enough for me to begin feeling a little more than awkward, but thankfully she spoke up before I did. "Thank you," was the simple two worded response.

I lightly shook my head in dismissal. "Like I said, don't worry about it." A snort came through my nose as I began chuckling in self-pity. "Probably going to regret it later, but I always do make things harder for myself so nothing new there."

After a few more moments of a speechless quiet between the two of us, another sigh escaped my mouth before I looked back to the Quarian and locked our gazes. "In any case, we've stayed here _way_ too long. We can either get a move on now, _or_..." My hand pulled out a small card ‒ or more like a small piece of scrap paper ‒ from the right pocket of my pants and reached out toward the Quarian. "I can give you my omnitool number and you can call me when ya feel like you need me."

A brief hesitation passed before she took the number from my hand, quickly studied it, and then placed it inside a pocket located on the right hip of her enviro-suit. "Would it be alright if you come with me now?"

I nodded, then reached down to the floor to pick up my weapon-carrying backpack. "Lead the way."

From that point on, as we walked back inside to the hallways of the apartment complex, not many words were shared between us. She would walk ahead of me while I followed several yards behind. I attempted to not get caught up in the awkwardly quiet atmosphere that was growing between us and took the opportunity to think to myself.

It was strange, really. The whole situation I ended up putting myself in. In all honesty, I didn't have a single damn clue what to think. There I was, a twenty-one-year-old guy with no real experience in any form of combat or private security, now a bodyguard to a Quarian woman on the Citadel. Protecting her from what? No real idea, although I was most definitely going to find out later. As to why I was even there to begin with, the answer was quite simple. I had absolutely _nothing_ better or more productive to do. The whole thing was _supposed_ to be the precursor to my preparation for the future that Saren and the Reapers would bring. Including financially. _But_... that idea went right out the window once I chose to work for free.

Yes, about two months ago I sort of decided to become a mercenary, though I had planned to only work for good-intentioned people who genuinely needed help. Kind of like the A-Team. Only not as cool. Or well trained. Or as experienced. Either way, I wanted... no, _needed_ to do something meaningful. It was the only way I was going to keep my head together in this world, let alone remain financially stable. After all, that money I got from my 'antiques' were not going to last forever. However, now that I had no solid avenue of income, things were becoming a bit complicated. I didn't regret my decision; there was no way in a million years my heart was going to allow me to take money from Sala. But I did look at reality and understand my choice was going to make things harder in the coming weeks.

After all this self-reflection, though, I ended up coming back to the same set of questions that always plagued my mind at the end of every day. What was the _real_ reason behind my existence here? What was my purpose in this place? Why was I doing this? Why was I about to put my life on the line? What did I have that was worth fighting for?

What did I have that was worth _living_ for?

As Sala and I rode down an elevator to the Lower Wards, I brought my free hand to my face and rubbed it, finding a little grime in the corners of my eyes. I was tired. I didn't show it and I didn't act it, but I was tired. It was not from a lack of sleep, even if that did claim a small part of responsibility. No, it was my own mind that was to blame. I was literally thinking myself to exhaustion, trying to find answers to what seemed like an endless sea of unanswerable questions. Countless puzzles missing critical pieces. Mind-boggling riddles that made no sense. I understood very well how this was all severely effecting, perhaps even deteriorating, my mental health. But I just couldn't. Stop. _Thinking_. I could not stop _questioning_.

I scratched my chin a couple times through the face shield before dropping my hand back down with a loud sigh, all the while pretending to not notice the concerned stare of the Quarian woman beside me. There was no ceasing my wandering mind and the questions it asked, but I could, if anything, distract it. For now, there was a job to do. A person needed my help, so like hell was I not about give my absolute best.

 _Pff, I have to start somewhere, don't I?_

 **CHAPTER END**

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:** Hello everyone! My _ deepest _and most sincere apologies for such a long and tedious wait for this chapter. I don't have much excuses other than life likes to kick me in the balls, so I'm going to spare you all a long explanation. All I'm going to ask is this: Please forgive me and enjoy the new chapter... and maybe put down a review if you can find it in your heart to do so._

With that said, I'll see you all next time! And hopefully without such a long wait!


End file.
